Ding!

[Commercial Intro: Royce Da 5'9"]

Yeah yeah

Mic check, one two, one two, one two

Yeah, turn me up a little bit Preem

Yeah, mic check

Mic check, one two, one two

Yeah

Yeah, yeah

[Mixtape Intro: Royce Da 5'9" & DJ Premier]

Yeah yeah

Mic check, one two, one two, one two

Yeah, turn me up a little [?]

Yeah, mic check

Word! The Bar Exam, I told you how it's goin down

DJ Premier your host, Statik Selektah on the wheels of steel

Royce 5'9", the artist

Teaching you motherfuckers how to rhyme

[Verse 1]

I like to say I specialize in rhyming, you recognized in time

I train till I'm in pain, I exercise my mind

I effortlessly write, my weapons with me tonight

So, please be aware of 'em

Walk up in the fight club with eight ounce white gloves and leave with red ones

Mood swing on the beat, soon as Preem prepares one

Pick and choose my punches, walk away with minimal lumps

Pivoting around the vocal booth in trunks

Back you off me like a boxer, nigga I overuse the drum

They call me Travis Barker with a chopper

Knock away your tooth, do the rock-away or I will raise your roof

Rest in peace to Proof

He prolly rolling over in his grave, niggas poisoning his name

The misfortunes of the fortune and the fame

I'm too cocky to hit

5'9" and Preem, the new Rocky and Mick, the dollar signs go ding

Preem, cut me

[Chorus]

Cut!

This is where your heart at bitch

Something you don't wanna battle with

As if you don't notice

Damn I'm great

I don't like no fake niggas

This is where your heart at bitch

Something you don't wanna battle with

Damn I'm great

[Verse 2]

They say this is a wise old profession

So my flow is my whole confession

I rhyme like applying cold compression

You go away like swelling

When pellets from the throw away is yelling

At you near the doorway to hell or heaven

Set me up, I know you've thought about it

That means I gotta wet you up

And I ain't talking with no water bottle

Sit outside your house creeping

Come out and (ugh)

Spit out your mouth piece

And I'll skid out to South Beach

Fuck yo' talent, I'm never going down

I'm a stand-up guy, yes I'm up for the challenge

Up cause of balance

From tying my shoe strings together when I was young and busting the cannon

Your life is spun, the fight is done

You've been iced out by the nicest one

And I ain't talking about Jacob and Johnny the jeweler

I'm talking bout letting the fakest hear the sound of the Ruger

What you know about that?

I know all about that

Me and Tip feel the same

Seeing tips feel the brain

Is like watching a movie but I ain't make those

I just make the credits roll after I'm Oliver Stone

I'm the pedestal you stand on me I'mma flip you

Pitbull, put your hands on me I'mma sic you

It's true you not so hard, I'm sensing you puss

As soon as you drop your guard, in comes the hook

Preem, cut me

[Chorus]

Cut!

This is where your heart at bitch

Something you don't wanna battle with

As if you don't notice

Damn I'm great

I don't like no fake niggas

This is where your heart at bitch

Something you don't wanna battle with

Damn I'm great